


Alfred's Arthur

by thedoctorwatcheshetalia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Creepy Al, Homicide, M/M, please read with care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6178379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedoctorwatcheshetalia/pseuds/thedoctorwatcheshetalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur was made for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alfred's Arthur

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the tags already, just to let you know, some of you may be triggered. I really don't want that, so proceed with caution. 
> 
> This was written based on a prompt.

Alfred _hated_ winter.

Three calendar months full of the biting cold… laughter and cheesy movie marathons just to remind you how lonely you really are… people all over the world decorating their houses with enough Christmas lights to give a small _village_ enough electricity for a century… and it wasn’t that Alfred _wasn’t_ a believer of such things, for if you’d asked him about it only two years ago, you’d see a different person. Not the cold, empty shell of what once was. Which was what he was right now.

If that made any sense.

Winter was full of things that put a twitch in his eye. The crunching of the snow under his worn boots, the ringing of bells around every corner, the people who slept outside Walmart for the next big sale, only to return with three or four measly bags and a black eye…

This time of the year was one stone’s throw away from what Alfred would define as ‘the apocalypse’.

The American trudged around the corner, turning up his collar against the harsh, cold wind. Frozen fingers fished a crumpled paper from his pocket, weary eyes reading over the address scribbled along its surface. A wobbly but genuine grin lit his face as he glanced back up at the area in front of him. A small collection of tables set up in front of the entrance to the mall. The empty branches-on-trunks around them were lit up like Christmas trees, despite them only being the plain regular ones.

But he didn’t really care. He wasn’t here for that. He was here for _him._

Ah, if he listened close enough, he could hear the melodious voice ring like tinkling bells… the only bells he’d ever want to hear in his entire life.

_“I swear, I could care less about giving money to hobos.”_

Alfred dove behind a tree, peeking out from between two barren branches.

_“You know what I should be doing!? Sleeping. Eating. Something! All this charity business is five kinds of pure shite!”_

Alfred’s heart hammered in his chest. Yes, _this_ was what he was here for. Not the trees, not the charity, but for his entire life squeezed into five feet and nine inches of his obsession. With hair like spun gold and eyes like the finest emeralds, it was hard to be rid of his unhealthy addiction to this man.

Arthur Kirkland was his life.

_“It’s so bloody cold out here!”_

Alfred pressed his hand to his chest, his throat clogging up with all the words he wished he could say. Oh, how he wished he could just hold the little man in his arms and warm him right up! Arthur knew exactly what to say to put the beat in Alfred’s heart, the throb in Alfred’s ears, the breath in his lungs…

Shaky hands reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone, aiming it as well as he could from between the branches and taking a silent picture.

_Zoom._

Then another.

He needed to capture _everything_ about Arthur. The way he looked when he was mad. The way he looked when those cute eyebrows furrowed up, and a slight crease pressed between them. The way those lips pressed into a pout… everything.

Another picture. This one was the last. He pocketed his phone.

Swallowing hard as if it could clear away his inhibitions, Alfred took a step away from the tree and commenced to walk right into Arthur’s phone conversation. Green eyes widened and Arthur hung up hastily, putting his phone on the desk and plastering a smile onto his pale features.

“Would you like to make a donation?” He asked, voice unnaturally cheery in contrast to his demeaning words only seconds ago. Alfred smirked.

“And what is it that I’m supporting?”

Arthur moistened his lips and Alfred’s heart fluttered at the sight of it. His _perfect_ tongue swiping across his perfectly plump lips with that _perfect_ saliva. “We give the hob- er, the homeless Christmas presents!” The Brit made a cute and cheesy gesture with his hands.

Alfred placed a crumpled hundred-dollar bill into Arthur’s open palm, rough fingertips relishing the feel of Arthur’s smooth skin for a second longer than they should have before pulling away. 

Arthur’s cheeks colored with gratitude, “Oh dear! A simple five dollars would have done!”

“Nonsense,” Alfred said with a sparkling grin, “Where’s the Christmas spirit in that?”

Unfortunately that was all the conversation he had, because as soon as the words left his mouth, another couple came with their donation, and Alfred was forced to leave to maintain his good image.

Grumbling incoherently, Alfred stomped his way back home, the warmth of Arthur still dancing on his fingertips.

He could almost taste the first time he met the little Brit. It was moments like these when the memories came tumbling back. The first time his eyes had caught sight of his beautiful angel coming out of the doors of a church, eyes swimming with tears, mourning the loss of his pet cat. It seemed like a silly thing to cry about, but as Arthur came down those stairs, he bumped into Alfred who’d been walking right past- and then like sparks of electricity, Alfred felt a connection.

Arthur was _his._ They were meant to be. Alfred knew this for sure. The way Arthur’s eyes met his for a gut-wrenching  _nanosecond!_  It was as if Arthur knew it as well, somewhere in his mind. Alfred was _smitten._ Love at first sight had never been so real.

Then began the visits. Alfred had obsessed over knowing every detail of Arthur’s life. Where he would go and what he would do. He liked to think he was being sweet that way. Arthur should be _flattered_ that Alfred was going out of his way to see him every day, but the other man never paid any attention to him. He never even looked at him.

That was when he delivered his first gift. A single rose in the mailbox. He’d been hiding behind a tree when Arthur got it. The other man had smiled a little, like he knew who it was from- but he didn’t. He didn’t even  _know_ who Alfred was. So he sent him more. A little teddy bear, a card, then finally, a note. Written in his own blood. A simple prick was nothing compared to what he thought it would make Arthur feel, but it didn’t have quite the desired effect.

Arthur had moved. Maybe he realized Alfred’s immense love for him, or maybe it was too much for him. But that was okay, Alfred didn’t mind. He would just have to tone down on the gifts, that’s all.

Almost kicking down his door in frustration, Alfred’s wobbling fingers finally found his keys, unlocking the door and skittering into the safety of his house. Scrambling up the stairs, a wide grin came across his face as he clumsily plugged his phone into his printer. The walls around him were full of pictures of Arthur. Only Arthur. _His_ Arthur.

Pictures of Arthur eating, walking, breathing, bathing- Alfred liked those the most. But there were hardly any of Arthur smiling. But he knew he could change that. If Arthur was his, he’d never let him frown… Ever.

Alfred grinned as he taped up the pictures, using scissors to cut other people out of them. Alfred nicked himself in the process and he hissed, putting his bleeding finger up to his mouth before smiling and pressing it to the wall instead, drawing a heart on the blank section. _It was a sign that God wanted him to be with Arthur._

He nicked himself, again and again, to fill in the blank shape, using tape to make sure it didn’t drip.

_It was a piece of art._

The pain didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. His eyes drank in the sight of Arthur and he sighed contentedly. Few people did anything in their lives that made Alfred feel the way he felt at the moment, and he was proud of it. Arthur should be too, because he’s the reason for it. Alfred decided that he’d somehow let Arthur know that, but how? Maybe-

Alfred felt a buzz in his pocket and he frowned, pulling the phone out and against his ear, picking up.

“Hello?”

“Where were you?”

Alfred froze, “Matthew-”

“Where were you, Alfred? You promised that you’d spend today with me.”

“Hey! I was just out looking for a good Christmas tree!” Alfred protested with a pout as if his brother could hear on the other side.

“That’s sweet, but I already have one, remember?”

“Oh!” Alfred said with a fake laugh.

“So?”

The American sighed. He didn’t want to go. Not because he didn’t want to spend the Christmas with Matthew, but only because his Canadian brother’s house was so far away from Arthur’s!  

“Alfred!”

He sighed, “Sure bro, why not! I’ll be over tomorrow.”

He heard his brother smile from the other side, “Okay!”

Then he hung up.

Blue eyes scanned his surroundings, his lips twitching up a little. Why not see what his little Brit is up to now?

Slipping on a black hoodie and grabbing a camera and a ziplock bag, he ventured back into the cold, despite his body terribly protesting against it. Burying himself further into his clothing, Alfred tried to ignore the crunching snow as he hurried along the familiar path to Arthur’s house. He knew for a fact that the Brit’s shift at the charity service ended just now, and he’d be on his way home, no doubt meeting up with his new, live-in boyfriend.

Didn’t Arthur understand that God had a different fate in store for him? Alfred and Arthur were _meant_ to be together. It was written in the stars. At least in this life- unlike the countless others they’d spent apart- they were owed their own happy ending. But Arthur just kept throwing it away, so Alfred had to take it into his own hands.

He kicked a stray can and sent it skittering across the street, coming to stop in front of the only house on the block that didn’t look like it was on fire.

Arthur Kirkland didn’t like Christmas lights. That, Alfred knew. He thought they destroyed the true meaning of Christmas.. and that lights themselves were just too artificial. Instead, strings of faux red and green lanterns decorated his doorstep and an innocent looking Santa statue put a finger to his lips on the lawn.

Really? Santa? That was just asking for it. Alfred didn’t understand why countless people pressed charges on stalkers when they themselves devoted an entire three months to him! There really was no difference between Santa and Alfred, except for the fact that the American didn’t creep on kids or come down people’s chimneys at night.

Alfred sighed, a puff of his own foggy breath escaping into the air like smoke. There was a second car in the driveway. So Alfred was right. Arthur’s pesky boyfriend was home.

He tiptoed to the nearest window, peeking through the blinds to have a look at the living room.

Empty.

They were probably in the kitchen.

The next window had its blinds pulled up halfway. Alfred grinned and pressed against it, swiping away at the fogged glass with his sleeve. Sure enough, Arthur was there. Wearing his green apron and trying so very hard to stir his bowl of whatsit. Alfred couldn’t help but chuckle… _he looked so cute._

And then the _other one_ had to ruin it all.

The boyfriend was right next to him, looking every bit as more graceful as he rolled the dough into a slab. Alfred could see the man point out the smudge of flour on Arthur’s cheek, and the little Briton laughed, allowing the other man to swipe it away.

Alfred almost gagged. _He could do it better._

After cutting the dough into gingerbread cookie shapes, the boyfriend put them in the oven and Alfred could see Arthur protest.

_Why can’t I work the oven?_

The boyfriend- Alfred didn’t quite know his name, but he referred to the man as ‘the thief’ in his mind- shook his finger, _Because you burn things._

Alfred felt his cheeks heat up, _how dare he say such a thing?_ Like an offended fangirl, he felt his heart thump in his ears and he turned on his camera, swiping at the window again to click a quick picture of that cute pout.

This would go on his wall. Right next to the one of Arthur and his cat watching a Doctor Who marathon. 

_Seriously, he could be so cute sometimes._

The thief’s lips curled into a small ‘o’ and Alfred assumed he was whistling as he cleaned up the counter. Arthur stayed pouting, crossing his arms and narrowing his perfect eyes.

Alfred bit his lip, _oh how precious._ Swiping at the glass once again, he peeked just in time to see the boyfriend notice the look on Arthur’s face. The man laughed and took Arthur in his arms, peppering his face with kisses… and Alfred felt his heart wrench and twist. That should be _him._

Little kisses escalated into something not so little, and Alfred had to scramble to the bedroom window to catch all the action. Camera perfectly poised, the gap in the lazily drawn curtains was enough for him to get some good shots as they began to undress. Not the thief of course, but of Arthur and his perfectly porcelain body. Every curve cut out to fit in Alfred’s hands… not the boyfriend’s.

Never for that _stupid_ thief.

Alfred’s own glasses fogged up and he growled, rubbing the lenses against his hoodie fabric vigorously before sliding them back on, perching his camera atop his arm and deciding on videotaping the whole thing.

He tried not to get the Brit’s boyfriend in any of them. Just Arthur. Glistening with sweat, lips parted in silent moans, soon becoming silent screams, with golden hair tousled ever so perfectly. Like an angel. 

Long pale limbs grabbing hold of that blasted _thief_ … it made Alfred sick. The man didn’t deserve someone so perfect. If anything, _Alfred_ deserved Arthur. Afterall, they were practically made for each other! Alfred knew everything about Arthur. Everything there was to know.

Arthur liked to have tea at least seven times every day. Ten when he was upset, and five when he was plain lazy. Every Saturday, he goes about his house pantsless, because he knows no one will be watching- 

Well… almost no one.

He eats takeout from Indian restaurants on the weekends, and though chocolate is his most favorite thing in the world… nothing beats Marmite on toast when everything goes topsy-turvy.

Whenever Arthur’s furious, he screams into pillows and blames Americans until his face goes cherry red. He pretends to like people but bitches about them to his three cats when he gets home. Arthur’s dream man is Chris Evans- which, face it, was more like Alfred than Arthur’s boyfriend was, I mean, the idiot looked like he couldn’t even lift a piece of paper without getting winded!

And last but not least, Arthur loved to masturbate to Erotica. Not porn, no, because that was too degrading. He got off to romantic writings… only when the light in his room was dim enough. He’d get comfy with one pillow supporting his back, and one another to his right, and he’d jerk himself off with the most delicious noises Alfred had ever heard. And right before he climaxed- that one moment where you could see the pleasure watching over him- he’d flush an adorable pink, strangled moans making their way out of his glistening lips before he collapsed backwards, the laptop on his thighs teetering slightly to give Alfred just a little glimpse of the cheesy cover of the pdf… no doubt a muscular man and a scantily-clad woman embracing in the mountains… probably somewhere in Switzerland.

All of those little things… they all mattered to Alfred. He kept track of everything. Arthur’s schedule, his likes, his dislikes, friends, enemies, family… yes, Alfred was well prepared on all to do with the man. The little man that didn’t seem so special from afar… he was really quite interesting.

Alfred clicked another picture of his fixation. Arms pinned above his head, eyes scrunched tightly and lips parted in silent moans. Perhaps even words. Alfred could almost hear the man calling to _him_ , arching his back for _him,_ moaning for _him._ Yes. This was the perfect picture… for Alfred.

Not the thief.

But soon enough, the two’s throes of passion subsided and they settled to spooning. The boyfriend’s back obstructing the view of Arthur’s perfectly perfect sleeping self.

Alfred growled, letting his camera hang limp as he helped himself up.

Damn it all to Hell, he was going in.

Going back to the kitchen window, Alfred heaved the thing up, knowing for a fact that it was always unlocked because Arthur thought it was ‘rubbish for a robber to come in through the kitchen’. Alfred tried not to clatter any plates as he hopped over the sink, landing softly on the ground and making his way to the bedroom with soundless footsteps.

He pushed the door open, flinching at the rather loud creak. _Doors could be such dicks sometimes._

And then, lo and behold, there he was. With a blanket half-heartedly draped over him, Alfred’s very own drug.

Arthur looked cute when he slept. The American crouched down next to the bed, running his knuckles over the soft cheek, thumb ghosting over Arthur’s swollen lips. Nose crinkling in disgust, Alfred flicked the thief’s arm from around Arthur’s waist, ducking instinctively when the man stirred in his sleep before turning the other way.

Alfred smiled softly, calloused fingers running along the slight curve of Arthur’s hip. So perfect… all his.

With trembling fingers, Alfred took another picture. This one capturing Arthur’s resting face. So peaceful. Normally furrowed brows smoothed out and slightly raised.

Alfred slowly threw the blanket off the slumbering man, drinking in the sight of the pale, lightly freckled body. Shaking hands aimed the camera towards Arthur and clicked, the snapping sound causing the elder sleeping man to scrunch his eyebrows. Alfred gasped, staying silent for a while before letting out a shaky breath.

Arthur shuddered, burrowing back into his boyfriend’s body for warmth, and Alfred frowned, hand coming out to stroke the Brit’s milky thigh. So warm, so inviting… he ran his hand up to the curve of Arthur’s hip, pausing there for a moment before letting it wander up to the man’s chest, thumb flicking leisurely over the flushed nipple. Thick, dark eyebrows furrowed and Arthur shifted in his sleep, but it didn’t stop Alfred. His hand slowly ran up to the warmth of Arthur’s neck where Alfred hesitantly pressed his slightly chapped lips, breathing in Arthur’s sweet scent.

The Brit sniffed, curling into a ball, and Alfred stifled a chuckle. This time, his hands were steady as he took yet another picture. Surely if Arthur hadn’t already awoken, it was fated for Alfred to do so, right? The American touched Arthur’s lips, loving the feel of the soft, slightly swollen texture, and he couldn’t help but press his lips against them.

Arthur was made for him.

But maybe it was too much. He could feel Arthur waking from his slumber and he quickly retreated, taking yet another shaky picture before completely slinking away, gripping his camera like a vice. He had planned to hoist himself onto the kitchen counter and be gone in ten seconds flat, but he couldn’t help but reach into the oven and fish out a finished cookie, taking a bite out of its head.

_Don’t mind if I do._

He left the cookie on the counter with a smirk, climbing it and heaving himself out of the window, the cold air slapping his face like harsh reality.

Arthur wasn’t his.

Not yet.

Alfred shoved his hand into his pocket, fishing out his phone and dialing an all too familiar number.

“Matthew? Rain check.”

“It’s one o’clock in the morning, Alfred.”

“I can’t come over tomorrow, something came up.”

Sigh. “What?”

“None of your business.” Alfred snapped, “I’m just calling to tell you so you don’t whine about it tomorrow.”

Silence. Alfred wondered if Matthew had hung up and he was about to himself, but he heard the Canadian’s almost muted words ring out against the howling of the winter wind.

“It’s Arthur again, isn’t it?”

Alfred sucked in a sharp breath, “No.”

“It is, isn’t it? Alfred!”

Now Matthew was fully awake, “I told you to leave him alone!”

“I am!” Alfred exclaimed, far enough from the Kirkland house to be able to speak freely. “I just have work.”

“You don’t have a job, Alfred. For God’s sake… you _killed_ a lady last year! You know how much willpower a man needs not to go tell the police? I swear to God, Alfred, if you hurt that poor Arthur-”

“I’m not!” Alfred said, cutting his brother off, “I’m _never_ going to hurt him. I love him.”

“You’re insane, Alfred,” Matthew said after another exasperated sigh.

“See you the day after tomorrow, bro.”

“What would Mom think if she could see you now? Sh-”

“Bye.”

Alfred hung up, shoving his phone further into his pocket before completely stopping and pressing up against a tree, turning on his camera and scrolling through his gallery.

Matthew could be annoying at times, but Alfred cut him some slack because that’s what brothers are supposed to be like. Ever since their Mother died, and ever since Matthew had walked into Alfred’s home uninvited… the poor Canadian had been horrified, scared even! To see a whole wall devoted to someone Alfred rarely spoke to others about… bottles and Ziploc bags filled with things Matthew didn’t even want to  _know_ about… he’d made Alfred promise never to do such a thing ever again, and Alfred had told him he’d taken it down.

But really? Who hasn’t lied to an elder sibling?

Alfred smirked, deleting a couple of blurred pictures. The quirk of the corner of his mouth completely devoted to the memory of brothers and lying. Matthew had always told Alfred that he was a clumsy oaf, and he wasn’t entirely wrong. Alfred had once left too many clues to his identity in Arthur’s house, and was almost discovered by his next-door neighbor. Luckily, he’d forever silenced her wagging chin, therefore tying up all his loose ends.

And Matthew should’ve appreciated the fact that Alfred wasn’t sent to jail! But _no,_ he just couldn’t bring himself to even think of the fact that Alfred was actually good at something.

Pouting, Alfred let his camera fall limp against his chest, burying his frozen fingers into his warm pockets and ignoring the couple behind him giggling over mistletoe… and he couldn’t help but recall the events from only seconds ago. The feel of satiny skin under his fingers, the smell of Arthur filling his lungs, it was all so vivid that Alfred actually believed Arthur was finally his, even if it was only for a few minutes.

But soon, Arthur would be completely his. That live-in boyfriend was just another loose end. And this time, he’d tie them all so tight, nothing would be left.

* * *

The next morning, Alfred had gotten straight out of the pile of blankets he called a bed and got hastily dressed, shooting out of his house fueled on nothing but a cup of cold coffee. The camera still in one hand, Alfred wore a different hoodie lest he was ‘identified’ as the man who’d already gone to Arthur’s house at strange times before. This time clad in navy blue, Alfred ran up to Arthur’s driveway, looking like a man simply out for a jog… with his camera. So very believable.

He drew his fingers across the wooden door, taking in the scent of nutmeg and cinnamon. Everything about this house was perfect. From its grass to its very owner. Alfred felt himself grinning as he crept back up to the bedroom window, blue eyes looking so very eager to start the day with Arthur’s first movement… but no. The Briton was still asleep. Pillow tucked between his legs, Arthur had curled in on himself again, snoring away like it was the middle of the night. 

Alone.

Usually he’d be awake by now.

“So Arthur was right, someone is stalking him.”

Alfred froze in place, heart thumping erratically as the words sunk in. He trembled all over, the terror of being caught settling in his veins.

“Turn around, you coward.” The man spat, and judging by his accent-

Alfred slowly turned to face the boyfriend. The man was Arthur’s Irish half-brother, Patrick’s, friend. Patrick had set them up and Arthur had reluctantly agreed… the boyfriend had a thick Irish accent that Arthur had supposedly found adorable. 

To Alfred, it was plain annoying. 

The boyfriend must’ve gotten up early that morning to have a quick smoke. He was still in his pajamas, and though everything about him looked so brave, Alfred could see the mix of terror and disgust in those cornflower-blue eyes.

“You know, leaving the uneaten cookie was plain sloppy.”

Alfred laughed. But this was not a genuine laugh. This was the laugh of someone who didn’t know what to do.

“I did it on purpose. What’s life without a couple of scares?” Alfred’s own voice scared him. Deeper than he’d meant it to come out as… but the boyfriend looked mortified, so it was worth it.

“You’re insane.” He spat, “Leave my Arthur alone.”

“That’s funny!” Alfred said, “Because I was just about to say the same thing. Arthur’s mine. So fuck off.”

The Irishman’s eyes widened and the cigarette dropped from between his fingers, “Is that a camera?”

Alfred grinned, “I have pictures from last night, you know. I was right there, and Arthur looks downright edible when he’s on his back like that-”

“Shut up!” The other man exclaimed, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, “What is _wrong_ with you!?”

“I bet the pictures would look great with the other ones on my wall.”

That shut the thief up. Tears slipped freely onto the man’s stubbled cheeks and Alfred felt like a monster. He could taste his own blood.

“I- I promised Arthur I’d keep him safe from people like you.”  The Irishman said, voice cracking, “You think you love him, but you just scare him. He would never even look at someone as pitiful as you.”

Alfred froze, clenching his fist, his other hand creeping to his pocket as he took an uncertain step toward the other man, “And just who do you think you are to be able to make that promise?”

“The person he gave his heart to,” The thief said defiantly, taking a confident step forward. “And he can sleep safely knowing I’ll never let anyone harm him.”

“Yeah?” Alfred said with a smirk, hand gripping the hilt of his pocket knife, “Think twice.”

One lunge forward, Alfred buried the thing into the Irishman’s chest, twisting it for good measure before gripping him, tugging it out with a grunt and pushing it back in. Alfred’s hand became damp with the thief’s life essence. Watery eyes widened and a choked gasp tumbled past the live-in boyfriend’s lips, red splotches staining his gray nightshirt. Crimson blood dribbled onto the fresh layer of snow.

The boyfriend was dead before he hit the ground.

Alfred clicked his tongue, “Tch. Look what you’ve done! Gone and ruined Arthur’s perfect lawn!”

The American’s boot smashed against the Irishman’s chest and he crouched down, tugging the blade from its hold in the thief’s muscle tissue and plopping it into his Ziploc bag. Dipping his gloved fingers in the blood, Alfred drew a pretty heart on Arthur’s doorstep, making sure to color it in with perfection.

He didn’t even bother closing the dead man’s eyes. He felt that the wide-eyed look in them added to the overall look of the crime scene.

It was a piece of art.

Grinning, Alfred took one last look at his slumbering Arthur before kissing the window and practically skipping back home. The Kirkland house being so far away from civilization… meaning that it was practically surrounded by trees… Alfred was sure he wouldn’t be suspected. They wouldn’t find the corpse for a long time.

So he wouldn’t be caught.

Mom would be proud of him. At least, that’s what Alfred had decided as he scurried back home to print out more pictures.

After he’d put up more photos and drawn more hearts and roses, Alfred went back to the Kirkland house, astonished to find that a huge mob had already gathered there.

Arthur’s brother was a police officer. From his place behind the trees, Alfred could see the tall red-haired man kissing the top of Arthur’s head and Alfred’s stomach twisted into knots, face souring. That should be him comforting Arthur. Not that guy.

But that’s alright. He’d take care of him later.

“We’ll find who did this, Artie,” Allistair mumbled, leading his little brother away from the crime scene. Arthur buried his face in his palms, sobbing quietly, his entire body shaking as he did so.

“I- never got to tell him I loved him,” he said, sounding small. He swiped at his damp eyes with the corner of his sleeve, “Last night I called him an i-idiot! _Bloody hell!_ I never told him!”

 _You never loved him. You loved me._ Alfred clicked another discrete picture.

“I’m sure he knew, Arthur,” Allistair assured, patting Arthur’s arm.

“No,” Arthur said, voice stronger. He massaged his temples, taking a deep breath and clenching his fists, “Whoever did this… _what_ ever did this… is going to pay.”

Alfred pursed his lips, climbing down from his perch and backing away into the thick growth of trees. Arthur didn’t really mean that, did he? Obviously not. He was just upset, that was all. He didn’t really mean it… right? Surely Arthur would take one look at the prettily-drawn heart and take it all back. It took skill and patience to do something like that! Arthur should be flattered. 

Retreating back into the darkness of his apartment, Alfred climbed up the stairs feeling every bit as half-dead as he really was. Grabbing a banana off the counter as he did so, he munched on the fruit as he surveyed his wall, giving his schedule a quick glance. He knew exactly what Arthur was going to be doing today. After the crowd cleared, he’d sulk in his bedroom, burn a few smokes, and go to the nearest bar when darkness hit the sky.

And Alfred would be there too. Ready to take Arthur into his arms. The hero always gets the girl.

Alfred pinned his Ziploc bag with the bloodied knife up on the wall, right next to what was left of the neighbor. It was like his own trophy wall… and though he’d never thought he’d end up like this, it wasn’t a bad way to end up. Working toward your goal with a few… minor casualties along the way.

The American drank away his day. Not alcohol, no. But rather orange juice. He didn’t want to be drunk when the time came to console his true love! He needed both hands steady for when he carried Arthur home… God only knows how much Arthur would end up drinking, and Alfred was planning on taking full advantage of it.

* * *

A long walk later, Alfred pushed through glass doors of the bar, the smell of tangy alcohol hitting him like a pile of bricks. Blue eyes sweeping across the room, his eyes landed on a mop of tousled blonde hair and his heart did a double take. Here he was. Alfred’s Arthur.

Alfred took a seat next to him and attempted to strike up a conversation, but Arthur only scoffed at him, curling his lip at the other man before moving to a different seat.

It stung. Alfred admitted it. But Arthur didn’t know what he was doing. The alcohol had numbed his mind. He didn’t know that Alfred was his true love. And that was okay. Alfred fixed that.

With help from a couple of pills slipped inconspicuously into Arthur’s drinks, Arthur was soon sobbing and piss drunk, his head lolled on his palm and tears mixed with the liquid dripping down to his elbow.

“Alhmn- m- an- another!” Arthur blurted out, slamming his fist on the counter.

“This one’s on me.” Alfred chimed in with a smirk, slipping into the stool next to the Brit’s. Arthur’s brows furrowed and he gazed sleepily at the American.

“I- dun know you.” he protested, “‘Could bloody poison my drink, you could!”

Alfred grinned, leaning in just a smidgen, “Arthur? Don’t you remember me?”

Calloused thumb stroking Arthur’s cheekbone, Alfred shifted in his seat, coming uncomfortably close.

“No,” Arthur said, green eyes wide. “Wh-who’re y-?”

“Your place or mine?” Alfred murmured. Arthur shivered and it felt exactly how Alfred had always imagined it.

“N- go aw..ay!”

Sentences slurred closer together as Alfred kept buying the little Brit drinks. It was all so perfect. The feel of Arthur’s shirt under his fingers, the warmth of Arthur’s thighs under the fabric of his trousers, everything was just how Alfred had always dreamt it would be…

And when Arthur had enough, Alfred carried him home. Throwing the man into the backseat of his car, Alfred drove him up the driveway of the Kirkland house, using the key under the mat to unlock the front door.

Up the stairs, the lithe body of the little Brit was tossed onto the bed. Arthur giggled, rolling onto his stomach and pressing his cheek against the cool sheets, feet bouncing a little too enthusiastically.

Alfred smiled, pulling out his phone and taking a picture of the scene before him. Arthur all sprawled out… for him. Just for him. Perfect. All too perfect.

He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing his phone onto the ground and crawling onto the mattress alongside Arthur. He would undress him- like taking a treat out of its wrapper- until every inch of that porcelain body was vulnerable…

And then he was going to have so much fun.


End file.
